


The God and the Scotsman

by Rivana



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:18:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivana/pseuds/Rivana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Christmases, and the memory of laughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The God and the Scotsman

**Author's Note:**

> Not the most polished of works, but a Christmas treat nevertheless. Devout Christians should probably avoid this one.

“I thank you for coming, the congregation needed you tonight.“ Darius' voice penetrated the walls of his sancturary.

“You asked me to come Darius. You know I will answer if I can.” An unknown voice, this second one.

Duncan MacLeod rested halfway between wakedness and slumber, as he lay hidden away in the inner bedroom of the small suite. He tried to keep still and quiet, while not listening too closely to what must surely be a private conversation.

That last part, however, proved to be difficult, as the bedroom of Darius, immortal, priest and one of Duncan‘s closest allies and friends, was no more than a badly closed, wooden door away from the study where the two men now spoke quietly together. This left Duncan in a bind. He was normally a very honest man, or tried to be, but these were wartimes and he was currently hiding out from the German police. They were looking for people connected to the French resistance and Duncan MacLeod was one of their suspects. Or at least a man who looked like him, wore the same clothes, spoke in the same manner and so on, was. Not the most auspicious of days to meet strangers in other words, even if said stranger did know the padré and the two seemed to be on friendly terms.

Darius was, after all, a very kind man, and friendly with many people, not all of them very friendly in their turn to the general public. Eavesdropping or no; Duncan was not emerging from his hideout. He’d not mentioned to Darius that he’d come here, but the priest had offered enough times and this was no time to put the man in jeopardy either; by walking out there unannounced and a hunted man. He’d just have to say a few Hail Marys later that night and hope for forgiveness.

“I do know that my friend. Forgive me if I implied otherwise. These are worrisome times and frankly I needed you there tonight to be able to face those monsters in the front row seats. May God forgive me, but I can not abide them.”

“Love forgives, Darius.”

The stranger spoke in a hushed, cultured and very French voice. Though low in tone his every word carried a silent power with it and Duncan shivered were he lay, hoping that Love did forgive. Even the atrocities in his own past.

“Yes of course, forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. Why are you so troubled about your sins tonight.”

“I did not speak of the past.”

“You did not, yet I heard it loud and clear. Now sit, boy, and tell me about your worries.”

Boy? The man called Darius, Darius?! Boy? Despite his earlier misgivings Duncan now listened to the strange conversation with rapt attention. How was this possible? He thought he’d only sensed one immortal entering the apartment, but someone older than Darius, had to be an immortal, didn’t he? Not necessarily though, he could just be old in mortal years and see Darius as young in comparison, he did look to be in his thirties, but still. That voice, though certainly powerful and mature, did not sound like the gravely tones of an elderly man.

There was a sound of rustling and scraping, as if someone was sitting down in one of the lounge chairs before the fire place. Then there was a sigh, loud and frustrated enough to carry.

“Is this really necessary, Darius. The floor is cold.”

The floor? Had Darius made the other man sit on the floor? That did not sound like him. No, of course he hadn’t, he was the one asking for advice wasn’t he? Of course, how silly of him, Duncan thought. This wasn’t an immortal or a stranger. This was just another cleric, probably higher up in the hierarchy, maybe a bishop, coming for mass as a favour to Darius. It all made sense now.

“Please lord. I need…”

There was some more rustling of fabric, then silence. MacLeod imagined whoever had seated themselves to be somewhat frustrated by the current turn of events.

“I am not a priest Darius. The confessional rites mean little to me.”

“No, of course not. Why should they? Could I just ask your forgiveness then? Like I did as a child.”

“You are not a child Darius. Not in any man’s eyes would you be a child.”

“To you I would, father. To you I am, am I not? Or do you reject me?”

Duncan had by now completely forgotten where or when he was. He forgot who he was and what he was doing in the priest’s bedchamber. He forgot everything, even to breathe, as he listened to this otherwordly conversation.

There was another, clearly put-upon, expulsion of air.

“You will be my child for as long as you wish it Darius. I promised you that, did I not?”

“You did, but I…”

“You did not deny me in your heart Darius. I always knew that.”

“Of course you did. You’d know even if I didn’t. You always do after all. You always did.”

“And I always will. Comes with being an elder as well as being a father and a mother...”

“And a sister and an uncle and a donkey to ride to the market.”

Rich, gentle, warm laughter had Duncan closing his eyes to see if maybe he could be really lucky and drown in it before the loving notes drifted off.

“Yes, quite like that. I’m glad you remember the good times, my son. There were a lot of them as well.”

“There were.”

“Now, can you get up off the floor?”

“I will if you ask me to, but you haven’t forgiven me yet.”

“Oh for the love of… You always did test my patience child. What is it that you want me to forgive this time?”

“I ask forgiveness for taking your name in vain. For preaching lies as well as truths. For not giving my self up in the fight against this monstrosity that is the war and follow your example. I ask for forgiveness that I do not have the strength, or the courage, or the compassion…”

“Please. Enough. I forgive you Darius. For whatever you need to be forgiven for, I forgive you. Peace, my son. Now, get off the floor and come sit beside me like a sane person.”

There was more rustling of clothes and apparently Darius had gotten up from his position. Another sound of furniture scraping over floor, and then a moment of silence.

“I’d just like to remind you that people would probably not stay sane for long if they knew that they were talking to a living, breathing god. The living, breathing God.”

“It’s called immortality and you have it too. Besides, you‘ve had nearly two thousand years to get used to it and that‘s not counting your childhood. Which gave this God head a few grey hairs I don‘t mind saying.”

That’s when everything went black for Duncan.

~

Hours later he awoke to a cool cloth on his forehead.

“You must have had quite a stressful time of it if you fainted like this Duncan, my boy. It’s not like you.”

“Have there been any police around?”

“Yes, yes. I sent them away of course. Nothing here but Gods and immortals and poor clerics.”

“God, Darius. I’m sorry. I heard. I mean, when I got in here I fell asleep during your mass and then when that stranger walked in with you I couldn’t be sure if it were friend and foe. Friend or foe to me, you understand, and well, then you started speaking and I just couldn’t not listen. Was that really? I mean, did you really…and was he? Did it?”

“Duncan, I do believe you used to more articulate than this, but really, when was the last time you had something to eat or drink?”

“Are you telling me I imagined it all?”

Darius smiled.

“Of course not. The lord moves in mysterious ways. Now, I brought you something to eat.”

Darius got up from the bed and went to sit by the small table by the closed up window.

“But..?” Duncan relented. Of course he had to have imagined it. Besides. Darius wouldn’t lie. Or would he? Did he? No. This wasn’t the time for going insane. He needed an escape route out of Paris and that was all that he could afford to ponder at the moment.

~

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly..!”

Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod wandered into Le Blues Bar stacked with present boxes and grinning like a fool.

Adam Pierson, or Methos, as he was known to a select few, raised his eyes from the glass on the bar counter to cast a look at the merry Highlander before he, with a snort, returned to gazing down in his drink.

“Hello MacLeod. I see you’ve been out Christmas shopping. “ Joe Dawson, watcher extraordinaire, hobbled out from behind the bar on his prosthetic legs and greeted his charge with a matching grin.

“Anything in there for me?”

MacLeod laughed.

“Ah, ah, ah. No looking until Christmas day.”

Joe mock-pouted, quite a feat for an aging war veteran, and retorted: “Well, I was going to gossip about my Christmas shopping at the Watcher’s head quarters, but since you’re not interested.”

Duncan looked up form his goods that he was stacking neatly on one of the empty bar tables and frowned.

“Hey. That’s not nice. It’s Christmas Joe, give a little. What did you find?”

Joe smiled disarmingly.

“You’ve gotta give a little to get a little…”

“Oh come on, that’s not even Christmas tune!”

“It is now!”

MacLeod scowled.

“Fine. Be that way.”

Then a big grin transformed the handsome features once more.

“The top two are for you.”

“Neat!”

Joe hobbled closer, but Duncan moved swiftly to stand in protective stance in front of the table.

“Nuh uh. You’ve seen the pile. You know they’re there. That’s all you’re gonna get until Christmas Day. Now you deliver.”

“Oh, fine. I did find something. Or a few somethings actually. C’mon. Lets go into my office and take a look shall we. Adam. You’ll watch the bar right?”

Methos raised his glass in response and the two mean exited the bar.

~

Later that evening both the Highlander and Methos were walking along down the snowy beaches of the Seine heading for Christmas mass at Darius’ old church.

“So why the glum face, Methos? It’s Christmas. Would it kill you to get with the spirit of things?”

The ancient man looked down at the snow he kicked up with his feet and was silent for a while before answering.

“MacLeod. You do realize that I predate Christianity, right?”

Duncan frowned. He had forgotten that little tidbit for a moment, but still.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t celebrate, Methos. It’s a good holiday.”

“Celebrating the supposed son of a supposed God on the day of his not even supposed birth. How is that a good holiday McLeod? It’s not even logical.”

“It’s Christmas, it’s not supposed to be logical. It’s supposed to be fun and laughing and singing and loving your fellow man. And presents.”

“And spirituality.”

“Of course.”

Methos was silent. Then he kicked some more snow before nodding his head at a few homeless people gathered around a trashcan fire.

“Look at them MacLeod. Is there much fun and laughing and singing and love from your fellow man for them? Are there a lot of presents for them? Hell, if they go inside a church at mass people will practically crawl over each other trying to get away from them. And meanwhile the world is in utter chaos and people in the ‘free’ countries who have the money and power to make a difference are busy spending thousands of dollars each on your beloved presents, buying up more food than anyone can eat and decorating their houses with lights that take thousands of megawatts in electricity, per minute! Jesus would be dismayed at this supposed celebration Duncan. I know I am.”

The Highlanders face shuttered and he sighed and looked down for a second before moving with determined steps toward the gathered homeless people, taking out his wallet as he did. When he returned again to Methos' side the older man shook his head and smiled.

“I knew that was beyond your capability to pass up. Bravo, MacLeod. You‘ve give them the possibility for food, and shelter maybe. For a day. What of tomorrow? What of the day after that? What of the people in Africa or the Middle East? What of the supposed birthplace of your supposed birthday child? ”

It was McLeod’s turn to kick at the snow and sigh.

“I know what you’re saying Methos. But you’ve said it yourself -you canna' save them all. And after all; I’m just a guy. “

The ancient man laughed heartily. A rich, warm and gentle laughter that made the Highlander shiver in unconscious response. That laughter sounded familiar.

“You may be just a guy Duncan McLeod of the clan MacLeod, but you’re a good man. Now, let‘s hurry up, shall we, we don‘t want to be late for mass.”

Duncan hurried his steps, to match the old man's strides, and they were soon inside the church.


End file.
